


Reservations

by LunarLilac



Category: Henry Stickmin Series (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Denial of Feelings, Gen, Government Supported Private Investigator Ending | GSPI (Henry Stickmin), Minor Charles Calvin/Henry Stickmin, Minor Injuries, Minor Original Character(s), Presumed Dead Ending | PD (Henry Stickmin), Selectively Mute Henry Stickmin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29547945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunarLilac/pseuds/LunarLilac
Summary: After his escape from the Wall, Henry knows he can call Charles for help.Still, he hesitates.
Relationships: Charles Calvin & Henry Stickmin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Reservations

**Author's Note:**

> *slides this over to the fandom*
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (and uh, sorry in advance?)

Back at the Wall, his first instinct had been to run.

Past the guards, down the hall, barely registering the danger and brushing up against his death far too many times in the space of an hour to think of anything more than go go GO. 

And even now, long after the danger has passed, he still feels a touch of anxiety, looking over his shoulder and wondering if - when - the guards will catch up to him.

After twenty hours of hitchhiking through the snow with little more than a stolen scarf and jacket to ward off the cold, Henry was about ready to collapse. He hadn’t chanced more than a moment’s rest in the bed of a stranger’s pick up truck, unwilling to be left so vulnerable without anyone to watch his back and afraid of the consequences of daring to sleep in the elements. But his adrenaline rush had long since faded, and his head bobbed with every step as he shuffled down the streets.

The last driver had kicked him out as soon as they’d reached Whitehorse. “There’s a cheap hotel a couple blocks from here. You won’t be able to leave ‘til at least tomorrow, ‘less you plan to keep hitchhiking. Train station’s out of service, but there’s an airport with flights to Vancouver - you’ll be able to get pretty much wherever you want to go from there. Or, well, there’s a few good bars around town. Do what you like, I suppose.” 

Henry had signed a quick thanks and wrapped the scarf more tightly around his neck, rubbing his hands together in a futile effort to keep them from going numb. A sign for the hotel dimly gleamed in the distance, advertising discounted rates with a few letters burnt out. 

It’d be better than a prison cell, at least. 

He had almost stepped inside the rundown inn when it occurred to him: he didn’t have any money. All of his belongings were either back home or locked up in the Wall. 

Just his luck. 

Henry rubbed at his face and leaned up against the building, trying to weigh his options. He could easily break into a car or hotel room if he really had to, or maybe find one of those bars the driver had mentioned and lift some drunkard’s wallet. 

The thought turned his stomach - two weeks away from the military and already back to his old ways, wasn’t he? Great. Poster boy for reform. Charles would be proud. 

He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. Not now. Focus. 

Honestly, though, he’d rather just collapse in the lobby - and be escorted out by security, undoubtedly - than keep wandering any longer than necessary. The staff might be kind enough to let him sleep for an hour, or at least point him towards an emergency shelter for the night.

Or they’d call the police, and put him back on the Wall’s radar. Henry groaned.

It’d be nice if he had a better choice - wait. His head snapped upright and his eyes blinked open. Choice. His hammerspace. That could work.

The thief bit his lip. The void really, really didn’t like to give him money - either directly or indirectly. If he reached into his inventory space just looking for something expensive to sell, half the time he’d wind up with a fistful of rubber bands or a simple IOU, and the rest of the time it didn’t work at all, like the thing could sense his intentions. 

But that didn’t mean it couldn’t give him money. It’d be faster than his other options, anyways. 

He reached into his hammerspace, bracing himself for disappointment, and blinking in surprise at the simple leather wallet he pulled from the void. Opening it up, he found a convincing fake ID and two hundred dollars, more than enough to stay the night and find breakfast in the morning. 

...That was unusually nice. Huh.

Well, he wasn’t complaining. He slipped the wallet into his jacket pocket, keeping one hand on it as he entered the hotel and made for the front desk and the bored employee manning it, stomping snow off his sneakers along the way. 

The desk clerk looked up from scanning her magazine and briefly looked Henry over, frowning. The thief forced himself to stay still and tried for a disarming smile. He was still stuck in the gray inmate uniform from the Wall, but the oversized brown jacket and purple scarf covered everything well enough. There weren’t any logos on the pants, so he should be fine, right? For now? The last few drivers hadn’t asked any questions, at least.

...He still probably looked like a wreck, though. 

In spite of that, the clerk closed the magazine and rolled her chair over to an old computer, waving him over as she did so. Henry breathed a sigh of relief and walked closer to the desk.

“Welcome to Riverview Hotel. My name’s Cassandra. Do you have a reservation with us?”

Henry shook his head and started signing, wincing slightly as he moved his freezing fingers. ‘One single room. Please.’ 

The clerk’s brows knit in confusion for a moment. “Oh, sign language, I, uh, I don’t really, um…do you have an interpreter, or...?” 

Henry shook his head. Charles could probably do it - he’d been practicing since the airship mission. Still mixed up a few signs here and there, but he’d learned very quickly. Had thought it’d make Henry feel more welcome on base. “That way we can understand each other better, y’know?” He smiled a little at the memory.

Charles wasn’t here, though. 

She stared at her computer screen before looking back to Henry. “No. Okay. Well, no reservation. That’s fine! I’m guessing you, uh, want a single room for the night?”

Henry nodded along to the flustered worker’s yes-or-no questions, sliding over his fake ID when prompted and walking off to find his room once she handed him the keys. “Patrick Wilson'' would be staying the night in room 121. 

Apparently the void had decided that “Henry Stickman” wasn’t the safest alias anymore. Probably for the best.

The room wasn’t anything fancy, but it did have a decent bed and a coffee maker. After locking the deadbolt, the thief threw the jacket and scarf over a chair, peeled off his shoes and socks and set the wallet on the desk by the flatscreen TV. After a moment of hesitation, Henry filled the coffee pot and started the machine up before stepping into the bathroom.

He ran warm water over his fingertips, sighing in relief as the last of the chill receded. He ran a washcloth under the tap and brought it up to clean his face and hair, finally catching his reflection in the mirror. 

It wasn’t a pretty sight.

Henry hadn’t escaped entirely unscathed. A large cut tore across his left cheek, already healing over but swollen and likely to scar, he guessed. Probably from the crash - the truck’s side windows had shattered and glass had gone everywhere. A stroke of luck, all things considered, but he still hissed as he scrubbed the dried blood from his face.

The prison uniform was in sorry shape, too: the cheap fabric already torn up in some places and growing stiff from dirt and sweat in others. The thief thumbed over a colorful logo on the uniform’s shoulder and frowned. The Wall’s insignia was still in perfect condition. Of course it was.

"And now we have the infamous Henry Stickmin. You’re going to be here for a long time."

He finished cleaning himself up, resolving to find better clothes in the morning. 

The thief crossed the room and sank into the bed, one hand carding through his messy hair, the other rubbing against the coarse fabric of the quilt. Idly listening to the coffee maker chug along, bubbling as it brewed. 

He lay back against the pillows and stared blankly at the ceiling. 

What now? 

By all accounts, Henry Stickmin is dead.

At least, the warden thinks he's dead. Henry doesn't know how reputable the prison is - not very, he gathers - but he can bet that even the Wall would have to report something like this. Probably won't be long before word gets out, and that will be that.

Is it strange that he feels almost relieved?

The last few months have been surreal. Henry had gone from being on the run to taking down the Toppat leaders with the U.S. military all within a couple days. Had officially been pardoned for his crimes and had one foot back out the door before someone grabbed his shoulder.

Charles Calvin. 

The ace pilot had shot him a blazing smile and clapped him on the back, excitedly congratulating him on a job well done. And Henry felt himself smile back.

“We should work together again, y’know? I mean, if you want to, anyways. We make a great team!" 

The thief had paused in the doorway. His first instinct has always been to run.

But. He wanted to stay. The thought terrified him. 

So he'd let Charles grab his hand and bring him in, feeling his cold heart start to thaw, just a little.

It wasn’t easy. The thief wasn’t quite in the army - always hovering by the door - but he frequently ran missions with them as a government-supported PI. With Charles, mainly, though the pilot tried to encourage him to befriend the other soldiers too. The job had come with a new set of challenges and expectations. The thief wasn’t accustomed to the army’s strict time clock or dress code, and although the rules were relaxed a tad for him, he’d had to adjust quickly. Everything had been new and overwhelming.

Charles had been there, handing him a cheap cup of coffee at stupid o’clock and introducing Henry to his friends, walking him through life on the base and doing his best to put him at ease. And it helped, really. Henry had been happy.

He’d still left the door open. Just a crack. Just in case.

The coffee maker chimed happily, and Henry got up to fix himself a cup. Curled both hands around the flimsy paper cup and inhaled in the familiar scent before taking a tentative sip. Nice and strong, just how he liked it. 

“I don’t understand how you can drink that stuff. Add sugar, at least!”

Henry sighs and puts the coffee down. He knows he has a choice to make.

He reaches, once more, into the void, looking for guidance. And it delivers - giving him two options.

The warden’s voice echoes in his mind. “You have two options here, Henry - ” A chill runs down his spine. No. This is something different, now. 

He pulls out two items - a disguise kit, complete with a violet helmet and some goggles. And a simple flip phone, low on battery, but fully functional. 

The choices are clear. Option one is to let the world believe Henry Stickmin is well and truly dead and start life over as someone new. New identity, new country. No ties to his old life or anyone in it.

Then there’s the second choice - call someone for help. He didn’t have to waste time wondering who. He could always call Charles to pick him up.

Charles would come for him, if he called. Henry’s sure of it.

He doesn’t deserve it.

Two weeks ago, Charles had asked him to stay. Enlist - officially join the ranks and fight by his side as his special-ops partner.

Had wrapped an arm around his shoulders, a simple side-hug, and he’d never felt so warm. So wanted. 

He was in too deep, he knew. 

And, like the selfish coward he was, Henry had run. 

He'd packed a bag that night and traveled north. He'd needed to clear his head, think about the future. Was he really planning to stick around the military for the rest of his life? Was that something he wanted?

If he got too close, he’d never be able to leave.

Henry rubbed his eyes and lay down on the mattress, letting his eyes drift closed. It was way too late for this. He’d make a decision in the morning.

***************

When morning comes, it is a few degrees colder than the night before, wind whistling through the drafty windows and clouds blocking out the sun’s rays.

But that’s okay - Henry is used to the cold.

He gets up, showers and grabs his few possessions from around the room, getting ready to head out into town.

The thief only pauses for a moment, hand on the door frame, scanning the room one last time before he leaves. He has everything he needs. He’ll be fine.

The cell phone is left on the desk, dead, as the door slams shut.

Maybe it’s better this way.

**Author's Note:**

> ...and then Henry goes down to the lobby, borrows the desk phone, and calls Charles, right? Okay, sadly no, but I can dream.
> 
> I do wish the game had more time to explore the implications of Henry's "death" in Presumed Dead. Charles does briefly mention that he thought Henry was dead, but that conversation is cut off and the focus snaps back to the Toppats pretty much immediately. And I find it interesting, if tragic, that Henry fully commits himself to going into hiding now that he's "dead" in every ending after PD, even when he has people and resources to help him escape that situation. He *can* call Charles or even the Toppats, he just chooses not to.
> 
> As a side note, I think it'd be funny if Henry Stickmin had actually used the name Henry Stickman as an alias in the past, and that's why the *actual* Henry Stickman kept getting harassed for being a criminal. Probably didn't go over very well for Stickmin when the guy became a Toppat. (Maybe I should try writing some humor now that I've gotten this angst off my chest...)
> 
> A few sporadic notes and headcanons about this fanfic and Valiant Hero in general:  
> *The Wall is located slightly west of Kitsault, British Columbia  
> *Whitehorse is a real place - the capital of Yukon, actually - and there is a River View hotel there, though this is a fictional version of both. I was mainly looking for somewhere remote enough to fit the "bar in the middle of nowhere" narrative from the game while still being large enough for the Toppats to want to raid. So Henry ends up staying in Takhini, which is basically a suburb of Whitehorse, and Henry and Charles finally cross paths again after the Toppats raid the Yukon Arts Centre in Whitehorse   
> *Valiant Hero takes place several months after Presumed Dead (in my timeline, PD takes place in November, but VH doesn't happen until March, when Charles runs into Henry by chance). I also think that VH starts the latest of all the CtM missions.
> 
> This was a sad one, but I hope you all still enjoyed. Please let me know what you think, and thank you for reading :)


End file.
